You've probably, at some point or another, come across the script for this:
That just shat all over my childhood.
In other news, my head hurts.
Also, as of this Friday, I won't be available for a week. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room.
(By 'my room' I mean the one six hundred miles away.)
I'm looking forward to going home. Can't wait to see the look of disappointment on my dog's face when he realises that, once again, I have failed to bring Dave with me and my visit is therefore utterly pointless and infinitely tiresome to him. Then I should imagine he will turn his nose up at me and proceed to guilt me into giving him at least a third of my week's intake of food, as per usual.
It's a wonder he's not fat. But then I guess he does spend an inordinately large amount of time eating grass and sicking it back up. Can dogs be bulimic? Who knows.
Anyway... what with it being after 1am, and what with my having decided to train myself to get up at 7.30am (well... I am going to have to learn, apparently), I should probably do that sleep thing I hear so much about.